


In Friendly Recompense

by BardofEryn



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Much Ado About Nothing (2011), Much Ado About Nothing - Shakespeare
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Fluff, Inspired by Shakespeare, M/M, Or rather Shakespeare is inspired by them, POV Aziraphale (Good Omens), POV Crowley (Good Omens), References to Shakespeare, Romance, Shakespeare Quotations, Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-18 14:26:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29369994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BardofEryn/pseuds/BardofEryn
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale go to see “Much Ado About Nothing” for their weekly date night. Little did they know that some of their words were borrowed by the Bard.Part of the GO Love Day event.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 12





	In Friendly Recompense

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Quilly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quilly/gifts).



> The setting here is a little timey-wimey. The David Tennant “Much Ado” was in 2011, but I’ve set this post-Apocanope for maxiumum lovey-doviness between them. So... Book timeline, I guess?

It was date night. Most nights, Aziraphale and Crowley went out to eat or drank some wine together, but both of them liked the idea of a special “date night.” It was an excuse to spoil each other and both liked spoiling and being spoiled. That night, Crowley had gotten them tickets to a new production of  _ Much Ado About Nothing _ . “We can finally settle once and for all if his funny ones are better than his gloomy ones,” said he as he handed Aziraphale his ticket.

Aziraphale barely concealed a smirk. There had never been a real question about which was better. Even Crowley could admit that each had their purpose, if he was plied with enough alcohol first. Still, it was a sweet gesture that reminded Aziraphale of a very romantic moment in their history on this planet. For a second, he could almost see Crowley with that ridiculous goatee he’d been sporting. “We shall see,” said he before pecking Crowley on the cheek, giving his smooth chin a caress for good measure. “In the meantime, shall we get dinner?” 

By the time they got to the theater, they were well fed with expensive sushi and just the right amount of tipsy on sake. As they entered the white plaster building that vaguely reminded Aziraphale of Versailles, the angel grasped Crowley’s hand. “I do rather enjoy the funny ones,” said he as they headed into the lobby.

“Knew it,” smirked Crowley.

Aziraphale gave him his schoolteacher look* and politely took the program that was offered to him by a dowdy looking usher. Crowley stared the usher down until she retracted her program and moved aside to let them enter the auditorium. “Really, my dear?” complained Aziraphale as they walked down the aisle to their Row D seats. 

Crowley shrugged. “Old habits,” said he. “Besides, you don’t want to know the rude thoughts she was giving off towards… Well…”

Crowley didn’t need to complete his sentence. While Aziraphale was a guardian due to his job and nature, Crowley was the guardian in their relationship. The angel cleared his throat, and decided to change back to their original subject. “The funny ones are nice. That’s not to say that  _ Hamlet  _ doesn’t have its merits,” said Aziraphale.

“It’s so  _ gloomy  _ though,” complained Crowley as Aziraphale slid into their end row seats. 

“But important.”

“Don’t see why important things can’t be funny,” grumbled Crowley as he took the seat to Aziraphale’s right. “Whole point of comedians, isn’t it?”

Aziraphale wasn’t going to argue the point, especially since at that moment the lights went down for the start of the show.

The play was set in the eighties, a fact which neither of them noticed given that forty years was their equivalent of four years. When Benedick entered at the beginning of Act 1, Scene 1, Aziraphale sat bolt upright in his seat -- a feat in and of itself given his impeccable posture. The actor looked exactly like Crowley, albeit with brown hair and brown eyes as opposed to Crowley’s red hair and golden eyes. As Benedick and Beatrice began their “merry war” with one another, Aziraphale leaned over towards Crowley. “My dear,” whispered he, “doesn’t this seem awfully familiar to you?”

“Er...” said Crowley. He had begun to slink down in his seat and now appeared to be coiling in on himself.

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes at him. “What did you do?” hissed he.

“Nothing!” said Crowley, earning himself a few glares from other patrons. “That is,” he whispered, “I don’t remember... Will must have heard us.”

“Heard us?” whispered Aziraphale. “Heard us when?” 

\----

It was August, 1595. Crowley was on his way to gain the attention of a William Shakespeare he was meant to tempt in London. Apparently, the man was a good playwright and had even garnered the favor of the queen for his work. Just the sort of man that would be useful to his side, if he could manage the temptation. His work with Dante had lasted for over three hundred years now, making a lot of people miserable (not the least of which being the people the author had not-so-subtly shamed in his writing and, once they caught up to him, the author himself). Usually, he would have assumed a woman’s form for this sort of thing, but he had heard rumors that Shakespeare wasn’t quite on the straight and narrow. That was for the best really. Women weren’t being treated incredibly well this century. 

Crowley slipped down a side street and appeared in front of the tavern – The Merry Pig. It was on the homely side for something that proclaimed itself to be a place for up and coming artists. There was one large window looking out onto the London street – made of eight panes of glass held together with wood that was splintering at the edges. Its plain wattle and daub walls were painted the standard white, though the effect was something more like a light grey from all the smoke in the city. Above the heavy oak door was a sign with a red pig holding an apple in its mouth. Of everything there, the sign was the most impressive part, realistically portraying a sow with a green apple in its mouth.  _ Must’ve been done by one of the patrons _ , thought Crowley as he stepped through the door. The inside wasn’t much of an improvement. Dark wood made the place feel cramped and the flickering candles cast an uneven light on the patrons. Crowley looked around for a table to set up shop at when he noticed Aziraphale already seated at a table near the window. The angel was nursing a glass of something and looking thoroughly miserable. 

Crowley grinned in spite of himself. It had been decades since he’d last seen the angel and, even in a grumpy mood, Aziraphale was always able to make his day just a little bit brighter. Now that they’d put together their Arrangement, they were slightly more free to be themselves around each other, which is why Crowley walked over to the table and slid onto it so that he was looking Aziraphale straight in the eyes. “My dear Lord Disdain,” said he, “are you yet living?”

Aziraphale fiddled nervously with his ruff. Apparently, Crowley had caught him off guard. Still, he was quick on his feet. “Is it possible for Disdain to die when she has such meet food to feed it as Mister Crowley?” said Aziraphale, sticking to the formal “you” despite the friendly jab. He nudged Crowley off the table and took a sip from his mug. “Courtesy itself must convert to Disdain when  _ you  _ come in her presence.”

“Laying it on a bit thick aren’t you?” murmured Crowley, giving him a little look over his glasses.

“Put those back on!” Aziraphale whispered sharply. He glanced out the window, evidently thinking that Crowley had just shown the whole street his eyes. Crowley felt like pointing out that no one would be able to see through the grease on the windows, even if they had been looking, but had the good sense to keep his mouth shut. Actively provoking your hereditary enemy turned friend wasn’t a great idea, especially when that friend was already in a bad mood. He sheepishly pushed the dark glasses back up his nose. 

Assured that no one had seen Crowley’s eyes, Aziraphale took a long draw from his mug of mead. He gestured to the chair next to him. “Besides, you know I don’t mean it. Though I ought to,” added he in an equally hushed tone. “Demon after all.”

“True, angel,” said Crowley. He sat down in the vacant chair, caught the eye of the tavern keeper, and held up a finger to signal for one ale. “Well,” said he more loudly, turning to face the pub and leaning backward in his chair with an expansive gesture. “Then Courtesy is a turncoat, for I am sure I am loved of all people, only you excepted.”

“Are you trying to impress someone?” whispered Aziraphale.

Crowley locked onto him with his golden eyes, an act he knew only Aziraphale could see due to how close together they were sitting and the profile view of his head. “Yeah. Got a temptation going,” said he without moving his lips. He kept up his playful look despite the doubt that was starting to worm through his guts. “Work with me here.”

“What? No!” exclaimed the angel. “Why on Earth would I --?”

“Arrangement,” said he in a sing-song tone.

Aziraphale glared at him. Crowley knew he probably used the Arrangement more than he ought to. Then again, Aziraphale called on it just as often. The only difference was that Aziraphale’s requests came with a speech about why invoking it was for the good of mankind. Still, he squeaked out a “please” under his breath to placate the angel.

Had he not been looking very closely, Crowley would have missed the near imperceptible nod that Aziraphale gave him.

He smiled and turned his attention back to the busy pub. William Shakespeare had to be here somewhere. Judging by that one play he’d caught the tail end of (something about fairies and lovers), he suspected the man was one for witty banter. “I would that I could find it in my heart that I had not a hard heart, for truly, I have time for none,” said Crowley, boosting his volume so that half the pub turned to look at him. Public displays of exclusivity tended to help draw people. 

“A dear happiness to everyone,” said Aziraphale, earning himself a few chuckles from the tavern-goers, “They would else have been troubled with a corrupting companion. I thank God and my two eyes I see you for a serpent.”

“Tempting, angel, tempting,” Crowley reminded him from behind a forced smile.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes and added, with a bit of flair: “Then again, wretch that I am, I would rather hear my dog bark at a crow than anyone claim  _ me _ as a companion.”

“May you keep yourself in that mind so some friend of yours may escape being inevitably scathed by your remarks.”

“I could scathe you,” said Aziraphale, only half concealing the remark behind his mug. “We could start with a few choice words about what is and is not a good use of our... situation.”

Crowley glanced at him. “What? You had better things to do?”

Aziraphale glared at him for a second. “You always end with a jade’s trick,” said he, placing coins down upon the table for his drinks. He looked up at Crowley, eyes not leaving him as he drained his mug. Once he was finished, he carefully set the mug down. “I know you of old.”

Crowley flinched at that. It was a bit on the nose. They had known each other for millennia longer than anyone here had known each other – longer than the whole of the human population had known each other, for that matter. Just at that moment, he saw a man with a hairline that receded far behind his ears and a pencil-thin moustache walk towards them. “Catch up with you later?” murmured Crowley, already halfway out of his seat.

Once again, Aziraphale gave him that barely perceptible nod.

Crowley could have kissed him. He wouldn’t, of course, but the feeling was there all the same. “Thanks, angel,” whispered he before heading over to meet the playwright halfway.

It was noisy in the tavern, now that Crowley had quit showboating, but he was almost sure he heard Aziraphale say: “You’re welcome.”

\---

“You mean to tell me,” said Aziraphale, “that the man you were tempting was  _ William Shakespeare _ ?!”

“It was a perfectly good move on my part,” said Crowley, his brow knit. They were standing out in the lobby during the intermission, each with their plastic cup of cheap wine. “Your side did it for ages in Medieval times. Pop into an artist’s house, inspire them, then let the art do the work.”

“Yes, I recall,” said Aziraphale. Those had been…  _ interesting _ times for him, especially when the artists were of the more “devout” sort. Lots of weeping and shouting when an angel appeared. He relaxed his shoulders, and took a cleansing breath. This was date night. He would have a nice time with Crowley or discorporate trying. “Did your side end up with him?” asked he casually.

“Yeah, but I can’t say his work has done much for my former side,” said Crowley. He glowered at a young woman who was coming towards him with her program and a pen.

“You could just sign the program,” said the angel as the young woman darted back into the crowd. He gave Crowley a pleading look. “She won’t know that you aren’t…” He looked up, trying to grasp hold of the name. “Oh… Dan Something…”

“David… Something. McDonald, I think,” said Crowley.

“Ah.” Aziraphale took another sip of wine. “That does explain the accent.”

“An’ I won’t because then everyone in here will want me to sign something and I just want to talk to  _ you _ ,” added Crowley. 

Aziraphale smiled gently. “That’s very sweet of you, my dear,” said he, taking hold of Crowley’s free hand. 

“Well, ‘s true,” said he, his face turning peony pink.

Aziraphale squeezed his hand then downed the last of his wine. “And you’re  _ sure _ ,” said he once he was finished. “That you didn’t inspire Shakespeare to write this play?”

“Dunno what you mean, angel,” said Crowley after downing the rest of his wine too. He pushed his sunglasses further up his nose. “Demons can’t go around doing good now, can they?”

“No,” said Aziraphale, lacing his fingers between Crowley’s. He looked up at him with a mischievous smile. “I suppose not.”

— 

*A look he somehow achieved despite never having been a schoolteacher.

**Author's Note:**

> Crowley definitely inspired the play then completely forgot about it until that night with Aziraphale. To be fair, it was over 300 years since he’d last seen it (and played the uncle, Antonio.)
> 
> Comments appreciated as always!


End file.
